


Anniversary

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29725335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: The happy couple looks back on their time together.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Kudos: 7





	Anniversary

Dressed in nothing but socks, Charles Emerson Winchester III wakes, he thinks, because the air is gone chill. The rain that fell all day has become a silvery sounding sleet, hissing against slate, adding needles of ice to a grey-eyed sea. He spares a moment to be grateful that he does not have to go into work tomorrow, then finds that Maxwell is also awake, happiness humming through him like a current. 

“You are the only person, beloved, who can wake me out of deep sleep at, ah,” he stretches to view the time, “3:07 AM - and have me  _ smiling _ for it.”

Max rolls toward him to be gathered up - grinning brighter. “Can’t help it you’re tuned to me, baby. ‘S from when I used ta get so sick, I think. If I moved at all, you were right there seeing what would make me feel better.”

Charles could correct him, tell him the word he means is “attuned,” but he’d rather stroke his hair. “What has you wakeful, my dear?” 

“Jus’ thinking. ‘S a new year - means we’ve been together for nineteen years.” 

He is right, Charles knows, but it feels like moments or days. “Ah. And are you thinking of what rare and wonderful gift I can get you when we reach twenty? Or are you considering trading me in on a newer model?” 

Max pinches him gently, knowing just where to grab to make him yelp. “Don’t even joke! Worked like a dog ta get you, baby, and you get prettier every day.”

Charles might feel any number of things about his looks, but it is difficult to deny Maxwell with his many, many drawings and photographs. Honest as he is, Max makes no effort to keep naked adoration from his face (not even in public!) or filter it from his voice. “I am glad that you think so, but you, pet, are the one whom the years only refine. I do not know that I shall be there to see it, but I suspect that you shall be, at seventy, an even more beautiful man than you were at twenty.” 

Max holds him, grip fierce and true. “You’ll be there. An’ I’ll still be needin’ you, holdin’ you.” His words are a promise - and Charles can’t help but smile, thinking God and the universe alike may bow before that stubborn heart. 

When he calms, they find a new, cuddlier pattern to make of their twined forms and Maxwell confides that it’s not just years he’s been counting. “Got to wondering,” he says, “pretty baby, how many times you, uh, you know - got me there.”

Charles chuckles. “What number have you settled on?” 

“Three thousand eight hundred and eighty-eight.”

“That is, ah, quite specific, my girl. How did you reach it?”

“I figured about four times per week. Sometimes ‘s more - but some weeks I have migraines and stuff, so say four times fifty two times nineteen. Then subtract the four months when we weren’t sleepin’ together.”

Charles chuckles against him again, thinking that Max has created quite the SAT question. “Was it only four months? I ought to have wooed you more slowly, pretty one.” 

Max kisses his nose, his forehead. “You make me fall in love with you just like back then - all the time. I wouldn’t trade anything we had or got.” 

“So, this is a sort of anniversary, yes? How should you prefer to celebrate, sweet?” 

“Already am. Always feels like a miracle- wakin’ up and havin’ you wrapped around me, getting to hear your voice first thing, knowing you’ll be with me when I go back ta sleep at night. Did get you a little something, though.”

“Darling, you know that I hate it when you spend your money on me.” 

“It’s our money, and this didn’t cost much.” He stands and retrieves an elegantly wrapped package, the paper in old gold and sterling, the ribbon rose gold and glitter-encrusted. 

Charles sits up under their sheets. “I have never, ah, opened a present while nude - unless you count yourself.”

“I am kinda a treat, Major.” 

“Indeed.” He unveils a blue oval jar, the white metal lid curling over it like foam.

“It’s called ‘Atlantic’ - that crystal pattern,” he explains. “They make it in Toledo.”

“It’s lovely.”

“Yeah. But it’s not your present. Open it.”

Charles carefully removes the ornate lid to find pieces of paper inside. They bear Max’s painstaking script. Reading his confusion, Max explains, “‘S a gratitude jar. All year I been writing down the stuff you make me happy about, grateful for. You don’t have to read ‘em now - but maybe you can pull ‘em out when you have a bad day?” 

Charles sits the jar to one side so he can pull Max into his arms. “Maxwell…  _ thank you _ , love. For every second of our first nineteen years - and the ones ahead.”

Max finds his lips. “Thanks for takin’ a chance on me - over there, bringin’ me home.” 

“Might I bring you something else, dear girl?”

“Whatcha thinkin?”

“Three thousand three hundred and eighty-nine? Maybe an even ninety?”

“Happy anniversary, Major baby.” 

End! 

  
  
  
  



End file.
